


so can't we just linger and dream?

by sangiebyheart



Series: as if it met you in whoever's dream [1]
Category: Stray Kids (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Royalty, Guard!Felix, M/M, Magic, Mentions of War, prince!Chan, reupload
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-10
Updated: 2021-01-10
Packaged: 2021-03-20 10:14:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,538
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30003318
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sangiebyheart/pseuds/sangiebyheart
Summary: As always, the prince’s gentleman of arms – his guard and friend, the one person who has sworn to protect him with his own life – notices his distress. His touch comes as a surprise, though. The tender coolness of his fingertips against the prince’s clasped hands spreads a warmth inside his chest vivid enough to ground him, to rival the intensity of everyone else.He cannot suppress the shudder or the quiet hum as his powers center solely on his protector at last, and he has to close his eyes for a second. Where the sensation has been unforgiving before, the guard’s feelings become his much-needed focal point, a way to calm down and concentrate on his duties. The prince registers emotions of anxiety and uncertainty in his friend; however, they are but a small flicker in comparison to the gently boiling resolve and the heartfelt sympathy for his prince. They dwell underneath those fingertips, and the prince finds himself longing to take ahold of his hand fully.Instead, a flower is pressed into his palms.
Relationships: Bang Chan/Lee Felix
Series: as if it met you in whoever's dream [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2207076
Comments: 5
Kudos: 25





	so can't we just linger and dream?

**Author's Note:**

> if this is familiar to you and you may think oh I read this under a different pairing and you remember this pairing please do not speak of it, I swear this is my work lmao.
> 
> hello stays, long time no see.  
> this is a reupload of a fic (series) i posted around January 2020 to March 2020. please be nice to me, it was very dear to me, that fic series, until. i had to delete it for reasons BUT NOW I DECIDED TO PUT IT BACK UP BECAUSE I AM PROUD OF WHAT I WROTE. thank you.
> 
> enjoy :D

The prince feels exhaustion, the mental kind, the overwhelming kind, emanating from his king’s imposing figure on the throne. He is stood next to his father, hands behind his back, face composed in a neutral expression as his father is giving a speech. The king has always had a gift for big words, addressing his people in times of need with the confidence of the young man he once was. Because there is dread, too – the sense of something looming over his head, casting shadows where there once was light so bright, no one could even imagine its rays to be quelled.

The great King is scared, the prince realizes, even among all the proclamations that declare a different truth – and nobody else in the entire throne room appears to be aware of it, as they all nod at the king’s speech, cheer at the appropriate moments and exude the greedy sort of hunger for war the king is aiming for, in spite of his fear. None of them can see past the illusion. His father’s conviction has the room fill with a mixture of pride, anger and lust; a concoction he would never be able to find in just one person, but the crowd gives it to him freely, even without knowing that they do, and it overpowers his entire being, now that the king has raised his voice and is animating his people even more.

It is not the first time this has happened. It is not the first time the prince has to focus to differentiate between his own emotions and those of others, though with the number of people around him, it takes him a while – usually, he does not have to deal with so many strong emotions all at the same time, contained in such a small space.

As always, the prince’s gentleman of arms – his guard and friend, the one person who has sworn to protect him with his own life – notices his distress. His touch comes as a surprise, though. The tender coolness of his fingertips against the prince’s clasped hands spreads a warmth inside his chest vivid enough to ground him, to rival the intensity of everyone else. He cannot suppress the shudder or the quiet hum as his powers center solely on his protector at last, and he has to close his eyes for a second. Where the sensation has been unforgiving before, the guard’s feelings become his much-needed focal point, a way to calm down and concentrate on his duties. The prince registers emotions of anxiety and uncertainty in his friend; however, they are but a small flicker in comparison to the gently boiling resolve and the heartfelt sympathy for his prince. They dwell underneath those fingertips, and the prince finds himself longing to take ahold of his hand fully.

Instead, a flower is pressed into his palms.

His father’s hidden anxiety is but a dull ache in his chest now, an unwanted result of their proximity. Although he may be incapable of turning it off, his power – as much as he hates calling it that – provides the prince with much-needed security: his father is a human being, as well, unwilling to participate in a war that will weaken his kingdom and cost too many lives to be considered waging. They may have a fighting chance, though the prince would rather no war at all. The prince himself is gifted at diplomacy and thus, he is determined to sway the Icy Queens of the neighboring kingdom to consider a peace treaty with their own, ere devastation will dominate both of their homelands.

He voices these thoughts to his king, later after the meeting has been concluded and the throne room cleared out. His guard has long since put a distance between them, still close enough should the need for his sword and shield arise but too far to reach out to his prince again. It has left him a little colder than before, and the air only turns cooler when his father addresses his ideas.

“You are not to interfere, my son,” his father, his _king_ , commands. Another chill runs down his spine, even when he protests.

“But father—”

“I said,” he repeats, stern and voluminous, which has the prince shrinking in his posture ever-so-slightly, “you are _not_ to interfere. You may be the crown prince, but I am your king – it is time you learned your place.”

His father is furious with him. The prince does not need his abilities to tell him so.

Alertness stirs behind him, where his guard stands and watches, and trepidation follows in its wake when his younger brother regards him with wide eyes and what the prince expects to be a wildly beating heart. Their father is not like that, not most of the time, their father listens to them and takes their thoughts into consideration – it is unlike him to refuse his son a place at the table and to dismiss him.

The prince is smart enough to know that there is no use arguing with his father in this state. And anyway…

The prince has already made up his mind.

Which is why he bows to his father and hopes to appease him with a vow of faith. In his head, gears are turning to figure out his plan. He asks his father, never lifting his head, “May I be excused?”

His guard, his protector, his friend is called to stay back when both turn to head out of the throne room. The prince has half a mind to protest, but one look from _him_ and he does not say a single word. Another whisper of “Go, I’ll catch up,” – softly spoken, just for the two of them – and the prince removes himself from the throne room, with reluctant but steady steps.

His attendant arrives at his chambers ten minutes after the prince does, bringing abhorrent news.

“Prince Chan!” He cries, in lieu of the proper greeting, not thinking to bow before he speaks. His movements are frantic, he is panting, and prince Chan wonders what could possibly have made Minho so upset. “The king has removed Felix as your personal guard. He is to sail with the troops to fight in the war!”

It is as though his soul has left Chan’s body, and he forgets to breathe for a few dreadful seconds. He cannot believe his ears, though he would never accuse Minho of delivering him anything but the truth.

“When?” is his next question, which Minho is quick to answer.

“Tomorrow.”

Chan had never imagined a single word to sting this much.

“I must see my father, then,” he announces, a fire underneath his heels as his feet take him towards the chamber door. The knowledge of his father’s less than stellar mood does not give him much hope of success, though prince Chan will be damned if he does not at least try to keep his friend from the war and by his side. The flower Felix has given him weighs next to nothing, though its heft is now dearly felt where it lies in his pocket.

Minho halts him. “His Majesty the king has asked not to be disturbed tonight, especially not by his son.”

“ _His son_ does not car—”

“Chan,” Minho reiterates, dropping all facades of formalities. A wave of sadness and helplessness rolls over Chan, but he is grateful that Minho does not let it show on his face. He knows that pity is the last thing Chan needs right now. “The king is in no mood to negotiate this, as he demanded me to tell you specifically. Felix has already put up a fight in defiance of your father, a rather passive-aggressive one, I should say. It was quite terrifying to watch. I half expected your father to order his execution any minute.”

It surprises Chan how serious Minho is – it surprises Chan even more that his father appears to have lost all sense of reality, if he is so inclined to take his son’s biggest anchor away without discussing it with him first, to send him to a war that Chan is willing to do everything to prevent. It all comes with the bitter taste of urgency, of time running out and slipping from his grasp.

“Where is he now?” he asks his attendant, who gives him a rueful smile in response.

“I suspect that he is being sent to the camp up North, by the sea.”

The path up North will take them ten hours at the very least, a journey they must begin immediately should they wish to ship the soldiers out by tomorrow. Chan’s heart falls to the pit of his stomach at the thought of Felix’s departure, and selfishly, Chan longs – no, _craves_ to have Felix near him right now, his fingertips running along his skin with a delicacy Chan has so rarely ever witnessed with other people. It falls outside of the realm of his understanding what has gone through his father’s head when he made that decision, especially when times of unrest are upon them, and Chan has to be a source of strength for his people – what is he going to do when he cannot find comfort in his guard, his protector—his _friend_?

As Minho has fulfilled his burden as the bearer of bad news, Chan dismisses him. “Please seek out my brother and keep him company for the night, if he lets you. I believe our father has frightened Prince Jisung this evening, understandably so. I am only grateful his pugnacity was directed at his eldest son rather than his youngest.”

Chan knows he has entrusted this task with the right person, as both concern and warmth radiate from Minho at the mention of the younger prince – Felix has pointed it out to him, the infatuation between Chan’s attendant and younger brother, a mere week prior to tonight. While a surprising relationship in his own eyes, Felix has assured him it has been a long time coming. He remembers so clearly how Felix had laughed at him for not noticing the change in their behavior by himself, had proclaimed how amusing it was that even Chan’s empathic abilities could not give him a clue. Though now that he _is aware_ of it, he can feel the sincerity behind this young love blossoming around him, and he _understands_. His heart swells with happiness and pleasantness, and for once, he wishes he was also gifted with the ability to share his own emotions with Minho, if only to let him know that he approves of them.

If Felix were here to witness Chan’s inner struggle, he would berate him to use his words like the common folk does, those who are not so privileged to _feel_ other’s emotions as Chan does.

But Felix is not here, and Chan has other priorities than his brother’s love life. For now, all he wishes is for Jisung to be cared for. As his attendant, Minho must insist on serving his prince until he has gone to bed, out of politeness more than a genuine dedication to his work. He is buzzing beneath his skin, attempting to contain himself in front of his prince, and yet, Chan knows better. Minho cannot fool him anymore, so he shoos him out of his chambers.

As soon as he has ascertained Minho’s absence, he starts gathering his essentials into a traveling bag – clothes that are unassuming, maps of the foreign lands, and books with stories to distract him all find their unceremonious way into a bundle of chaos before Chan pushes them inside. Afterwards, he reaches for his pen and paper, formulating two hurried letters to his brother and father, telling of his plans to ride after the soldiers leaving for the North and to sail across the sea with them.

To his father, he crafts an apology he barely even means, claiming his work to be a necessity should the king not come to his senses. He is honest and frank and blunt, but he needs his father to see that the fear he is experiencing is a warning to them all, and that engaging in a war before attempting diplomacy will end in a disastrous future for his kingdom. To Jisung, he writes of his approval – not that Jisung has need of it – and wishes him good luck. In the worst of cases, he writes, Jisung must be prepared to take over as crown prince, should something happen to Chan. He does his best to not be as blunt as before, as Jisung is twenty years old already and perfectly mindful of all the risks and dangers a conflict of this gravity entails.

Once he has finished, he seals the letters with his family’s crest and places them in the middle of his cluttered desk, so Minho can find and deliver them in the morning. By then, Chan plans to have caught up with Felix.

He has to be quick now, no more than a swift shadow in the corner of one’s eyes as he sneaks through the castle and into the kitchens for provisions, then to the stables to mount his horse and ride as fast as he can.

A knock sounds at his chamber door just as he is about to begin his adventurous endeavor and he stops in his tracks. Bag slung across his shoulders and changed into the least princely outfit in his possession, his mask over his face and hair tied back into a ponytail. If anyone else but Minho or Jisung was to catch him like this, he would be done for.

A tentative call of, “Who is it?” and the equally as hesitant reply of, “a hopeful friend, my prince,” later, and Chan throws open the door in his haste to let his visitor in. As soon as it falls closed again, he is engulfed in a hug and overwhelmed with warmth both inside and out, as Felix wounds his arms around him so tightly, Chan finds it a little hard to breathe. He appears not to be alone in his immense relief, for floods of it break through the dam all at once.

“I thought you had left,” Chan breathes out as he buries his nose in Felix’s neck, the fabric of his mask quieting what is already a pure mumble. Felix does hear him, fortunately, and presses Chan’s head further into his neck. The prince has never realized how much the mere smell of his friend has him calm down instantly, familiar as it is to him.

Felix huffs a laugh, a gentle brush of air against Chan’s ear, and replies, “Never, my prince. Not without saying goodbye to you first.”

A single tear slips from Chan’s eye before he can stop it, and Felix, as if sensing its presence, pulls back to wipe it from Chan’s cheek. He rests his hand there, to catch others which might fall, removes the mask while he is at it, and Chan practically revels from the gentle touch, raising his own hand to place it on top of Felix’s once the mask has been discarded.

“I am sorry,” Chan begins to speak, the first whisper among so many tonight. “I did not know my father was going to do that. If I had known, oh Gods, I would have never challenged him, I would have—”

“Stop,” Felix interrupts softly. “You could not have done a thing, my prince. His mind was made up before we had even set foot into the throne room.”

“I had no idea…” Chan trails off, shaking his head. He of all people should have seen it coming from a mile away, blessed with a natural radar inside of his brain, blood and bones, which tells him of the deepest of feelings of any person he encounters.

Felix gives him his sweetest smile in response. “Forgive me, my prince, but even your grandeur has its limits. I would ask you not to blame yourself for something you had no power over.”

And the prince tries to listen and drink in the reassurance, those words he yearned to hear and could not procure within the bounds of his own mind. It is a feat Chan finds trouble executing, to stay reasonable in times of distress, and although he is an expert at keeping his insecurities guarded from the rest of the world, there has always been one person who saw right through his prince – someone who knew to remind Chan that the world does not lie on his shoulders alone, that mistakes are perfectly all right and that bad things just _happen_ whether you like it or not. There is no need for Chan to take responsibility for every other horrid occurrence, as he is an empath and not a fortune teller. His skills encompass the present, never the future.

When Chan gazes into Felix’s eyes, he sees all this, unspoken, laid out between them, and the prince murmurs, “Thank you.”

“Anything for you, my—”

“If you call me your prince again, I will consider selling you out to the guards,” Chan cuts him off, in a tone that suggests no real substance behind the threat. He adds, softer as he gets lost within the chocolate brown pools of Felix’s irises, “We are alone, Felix. We are not the crown prince and his knight when it is just the two of us.”

Felix draws his hand from Chan’s face, untangling their clasped fingers so it is but a careful hold of one hand and the other, with Chan’s palm lying flat against Felix’s fingers. A kiss is planted on the back of the prince’s outstretched hand then, a gesture Chan cannot quite decipher properly. Protocol demands this testament of devotion and loyalty from a servant, of respect towards his crown prince and future king – however, his guard has never done it in moments as private as this one, not once in all these years since he has been appointed as Chan’s protector at his coming of age. He has not knelt down, either, as is customary.

A stream of the familiar heat crowds the prince’s senses, and Felix says, “It is not out of a sense of duty that I call you _my prince_ , Chan. I merely enjoy your ears turning red when I do.”

“You…” Chan stammers before covering his ears in embarrassment. The light in the room, candles and a low fire burning in the fireplace, is dim and outside, night has fallen, little moonlight finding its path through the windows – in no certain way should Felix be able to see the crimson in his ears – or in his cheeks, as they join in on the fun. Chan may be used to Felix’s tendencies to tease him at every turn, but he is far from immune to them.

It is a part of Felix Chan will easily forgive, especially when it sparks a laugh so full and hearty out of him. “I apologize, my prince—” _there he goes again_ “—I did not mean to fluster you.”

Judging from the sly grin on his face, he _absolutely_ meant to do that.

The prince must work hard to keep his heart from jumping out of his chest and presenting itself to Felix on a silver platter; however, maintaining and rearranging his composure is his strong suit, and distraction is a much proven and effective means to accomplish that. He steps out of Felix’s space, no matter how cool the room appears to be without his friend a foot away from him, and goes to do what he should have done when he had planned to leave earlier: he puts out the fire and blows out the candles, safe for one next to the chamber’s entrance. Felix stands and watches him with a fond smile, eyes boring into his back.

Once Chan appears before him again, Felix’s thumb grazes his jaw and his cheek, before stroking over his hair. “You braided it,” he says in wonder, marveling at the braid Chan had quickly done before pulling his hair back completely. This is not the first time he has had one, braided loosely against his scalp, nor the first time Felix had seen it. It is the implication that has Felix so alert. “You were planning to leave the city, weren’t you?”

The prince nods, unwilling to conceal the truth Felix has found without much difficulty. Chan braiding his hair is a clear sign of his plans to sneak out of the palace, oftentimes to visit the poorer districts in their city and care for the people in dire need of medical assistance. Empathy, amplified tenfold, is not his only gift from the Gods, after all; he refrains from calling it healing magic, though it is hard to deny once you have seen it. His father is unaware of both his nightly endeavors into the city and of his healing abilities, and thus, he keeps his identity as the crown prince of the kingdom hidden whenever he ventures out.

Only Felix is aware of its existence, as he had followed him once upon a night to see what his prince was up to, and caught him right in the act of healing a young woman from a particularly bad case of the flu. He had been the one to catch Chan in his arms when he ultimately collapsed from the exertion – the price Chan has to pay whenever he puts his power to good use.

Every time after this reveal, Felix could not be shaken off his tail and accompanied him, defiant of Chan’s orders and insistent to the point of exasperation. Should Chan overestimate his capabilities again, he had reasoned, he would need someone he could trust to take care of him – and who better to do that than his guard, his protector, his friend?

The state in which Felix has found him in on this evening must have given Chan away immediately – the face mask, the traveling bag, the braided hair – he probably took one look at his prince and knew Chan would not wish to stay for another minute.

“I was going to ride after you,” Chan confirms breezily, as though this is nothing and does not defy his father’s orders at all. “Minho told me you are to leave for the Icy Lands in the morning, sailing from the camp in the North. I would have seen myself on that ship with you.”

“Oh, Chan,” Felix replies, a bit of sadness joining his warmth. “I suspected you were going to do something foolish as soon as your father forbade you to interfere. My dismissal from your service was but the tipping point, wasn’t it?”

“You know me far too well, my friend,” Chan sends him a smile of rue, an earnest one at that. Determination rises in his throat, coating his words in unforgiving severity, “If my father is not going to present himself as the negotiator, I will. And if he attempts to take my best friend away to a war which is not worth fighting, I will not simply sit by and abide by his orders.”

“And what will you do?” Felix asks, hope – the treacherous thing – slowly fading from his spirit. “Your father’s decision is final, in both regards. Soon, they will notice I have slipped away to see you and we’ll both be discovered. No doubt your father knows you well enough to expect your own escape.”

It is true that their time is precious, no matter how they are going forward. He feels Felix’s anxiety trickle into the colorful mixture of his emotions, his desperation clinging to him like sweat after a training exercise. Chan has to think quickly.

Chan makes sure to meet Felix’s eyes, even as he rests his forehead against his and places a hand in the nape of his neck. “Then we will have to be fast with it, will we not?”

“My prince?” Felix asks, confusion and shock painted into his pretty features and his smooth skin, because he does not understand. Chan has blown out the last of his candles, leaving them in total darkness. The moon is the only one watching them right now.

“If I asked you to come with me,” Chan begins, so close to his friend that he could count each and every freckle on his face, even in the darkness, and his voice does not rise past a whisper, “would you?”

The question appears to rob his guard of his breath, as he feels rather than hears his puzzled response, “My prince…”

“Do stop it now, Sunshine,” Chan gently reprimands him. “I am nervous enough as it is, asking you. For you will betray your king in the process of helping your prince, should you say yes. While I will do everything in my power to protect you from any harm my father might impose upon you, I cannot promise you that he will take kindly to the news. He might forgive his son for treason, though not his servant.”

“Will it truly be treason if we are merely doing what is right?” Felix dares to wonder, a bit fearless and with a small smile that gives hope of affirmation to his prince.

There is a risk – there are several of them, in fact, the longer Chan dwells on his plan, the clearer it becomes. He is almost inclined to withdraw from Felix and take the question back – as the last thing he wants is for his dearest to get hurt. The fulfillment of a selfish desire, in a sense, that Chan does not do so and holds Felix closer to his heart instead.

Chan replies, “I pray to the Gods that it is not, and that my father will see reason. He may not be a cruel man, but I fear this war is going to make him one. For that reason, I will need you to be absolutely honest with me. I am asking as you as your friend, not as your prince, as Bang Chan, equal as I stand before you and with you. I will not command you, I will not order you.”

Chan shudders through an unsteady breath.

“I want—I _need_ you by my side, Felix. But only if you will choose to take your place.”

Felix’s hands are made to fit against Chan’s face, just as they are made to fit together, soulmates in every good meaning the word has to offer.

“May I show you my answer, Chan?”

Chan nods his consent and pulls at Felix, as impatient as he is to be kissed by his love. His heart is exploding inside of his rib cage, his brain is frying inside of his head – the warmth, the heat, the scorching sensation of Felix’s love for him taking over his entire body, and Chan wonders if this is what his powers are meant for.

 _A thousand times yes_ , is what Felix supplies afterwards.

 _Anything for him_ , is what Chan tells him once they are well on their way.

 _I love you_ , is what they whisper when the ice fights to get underneath their skin.

**Author's Note:**

> if you have perceived me, and you liked what you perceived, please do tell me with a lovely comment. full disclaimer, I know nothing about felix anymore, so if any of this is ooc to you, then that may because I haven't looked at skz properly in 19 months or so.
> 
> thank you for reading. i hope you enjoyed this. <3
> 
> i will probably upload the other parts as soon as i am done editing and reviewing them, which ought to be Soon.


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